Keeping Watch
by Sandylee007
Summary: Tony expected a quiet night. Instead he gets a very late, or perhaps very early, visit from Clint. Tony is tired and Clint has been beaten up badly. Come morning light, which one has been keeping watch on which? ONESHOT NO PAIRINGS, NO SPOILERS TAKES PLACE A LITTLE BIT AFTER THE FIRST MOVIE


A/N: LOL, there's SO MUCH I'm supposed to do, preparing for an AMAZING and VERY busy June. But I just couldn't help myself when this plotbunny came bouncing. And since I'll be practically out of typing time for a while soon, I decided to go for it while I still had the time. (grins)

WARNINGS: some violence (although I DID succeed in keeping this from becoming M-rated), injuries, language… ya know, all the usual good stuff

DISCLAIMER: Awkay, awkay, seriously now! OH, if only…! But I'm only just borrowing these fantastic characters. (sighs with dramatic misery)

Awkay, because I have a feeling that you want to get to the story already… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

 ** _Keeping Watch_**

* * *

Unlike some people probably assumed, Clint didn't always have his bow and arrows with him. Even now that the psych eval had deemed him fit for duty from the aftermath of Loki poking around his brain there was such a thing as downtime. According to the therapist he'd been forced to see he needed 'some time to be Clint Barton for a change'.

Tell the city's lowlife that…

Clint had just suffered through a horribly bad movie that everyone else in the theatre seemed to deem the most spectacular thing they'd ever laid their eyes on. At the moment his sole focus was on getting some much needed rest before the following morning's ridiculously early training session for the entire team. 'Bonding sessions' was what Fury and Steve called them. Clint would've given a lot if he'd just been allowed to sleep in without dreaming of slaughtering good people and ripping off eyeballs.

Clint was deep in thought. But he was still a highly experienced marksman and agent. He froze, his hand reaching out for a weapon that he didn't have.

"Well, isn't it the famous Hawkeye." The smooth, hazardous voice was unfamiliar and oozed threat. "It would seem that we have a mutual friend. Why don't we have a little chat?"

Clint gritted his teeth, his whole body preparing for something highly unpleasant. His narrowed eyes scanned his surroundings swiftly. Six figures were closing in on him. In the city's dim, artificial light he was able to see a much too familiar tattoo. It took a lot of self restraint to hold back a groan.

 _I knew that this was going to be a bad night…!_

There was no way he could've seen the taser coming before it was too late.

* * *

It wasn't exactly rare that from time to time, or according to Pepper all the time, Tony lost himself to his inventions. Hours, sometimes even days, disappeared before he barely noticed it. His current disappearance from the civilised world had lasted twelve hours, nineteen minutes and forty-two seconds when his cell phone began to ring, startling him.

Recovering quickly, he grabbed the item and gave it a look. A grin appeared to his lips. "Hey. How's Hong Kong?"

" _Tedious. And the jet lag is killing me._ " Pepper sighed and he could hear her stretching. " _Remind me, how did you talk me into this?_ "

Tony's smirk widened. "Because I'm strikingly handsome. And a genius."

" _Yeah, and very modest._ " She sounded amused and considerably less fed up with him, which meant that she most likely caught what he didn't quite manage to say. " _Have you and the kids been getting along?_ "

Tony rolled his eyes. "You know that I'm not much of a team player", he pointed out. And it didn't help that they still barely knew each other. Or that they weren't thrown together under the… ideal circumstances. One couldn't toss two assassins, the god of thunder, a super soldier, a man who could explode into a massive, destructive ball of sheer rage and… _him_ , whatever part he played in the mix, together and expect them to work together seamlessly in an instant. Tony went on at Pepper's groan. "Hey, we're trying, okay? We're all still alive."

Pepper sighed. " _Well. That's something._ "

Tony grinned. "Yup", he agreed, popping the final letter. One of his eyebrows rose slowly. "Are you pouting? Because you look incredibly sexy when you pout."

Perhaps Pepper was exhausted. And probably still at least a little irritated. But nonetheless she joined in immediately. " _Oh, wouldn't you like to know?_ " There was no mistaking her tone.

That was, of course, when Jarvis just had to cut in. " _I'm sorry to interrupt, sir. But you have a visitor._ "

Tony frowned. "It's two in the morning!" Who the hell…?

" _It's agent Barton, sir._ "

Tony groaned loudly and opened his mouth. Pepper was faster. " _Go._ " There was a clearly audible touch of worry in her tone. " _Make sure that he's alright so I can smack that thick skull of his for worrying me when I get back._ "

Tony felt quite ready to do something just like that although the wording in his fuming head and muttered through his lips wasn't as kind as hers. Even though all his instincts screamed that something was horribly wrong he had a full, in his opinion clever rant prepared. That was until he actually found Clint. "Holy…!"

Hawkeye looked like he'd had a pretty rough encounter with the Big Guy or Thor's hammer. There were several bruises on his face and the way he had a protective arm shielding his body spoke of bruised ribs, in best case scenario. At least one of his fingers didn't look like it was bending correctly. Was it broken? The thought made Tony wince. Shooting arrows with broken fingers didn't sound like a joyride.

Still, despite his injuries, Clint's posture was perfectly and elegantly straight as he stood there, near the main entrance. Tony could detect only the slightest bit of hesitation in the man's eyes. There also seemed to be a great deal of muscle tension, if the barely visible twitches were anything to go by. Whatever had happened that night the arched was still on high alert.

"What the hell happened?" Tony blurted out while marching towards the other, never one for small and subtle entrances.

Big mistake. It seemed that Clint's concentration had been elsewhere because the man's whole battered body shuddered. For a microsecond the former assassin's far too pale face contorted with pain, only to settle back to a stoic mask like the trace of weakness had been nothing but a trick of imagination. "'Ran into some guys who thought it'd be fun to mess with me", the man muttered, then gritted his teeth hard. "They didn't follow me. I made sure that they won't be following anyone for a while."

Tony very much preferred not trying to guess just how many people that 'they' consisted of. He only wished that Clint gave them a run for their money. Well, of course Hawkeye did. The billionaire frowned, a critical gaze examining his fellow Avenger's – friend's? – taut, injured frame. "Are you sure that you shouldn't be in a hospital?" A logical enough question, considering that the other seemed to be barely standing.

Not logical to Clint, apparently. The man jolted like he'd been shot, finally looking at him properly. "I've had enough broken bones to know that I don't have any right now. And I'm not bleeding internally or anything. So hospitals would be no good. They'd just give me something that'd only make it worse."

The logic of how pain relief, for example, could 'only make it worse' was lost on Tony.

Apparently he spoke out loud, after all, because Clint twitched with discomfort that had nothing to do with his mighty bruising. The archer's jawline tightened. "Pain meds don't sit well with me." And clearly that was all that would be revealed of the matter. The man shifted towards the door. "I'm sorry I came this late. I'll see you tomorrow."

Tony wanted to smack the guy but figured that the man had probably been through more than enough that night. "Oh no, hell no!" Facing a pair of questioning eyes he went on. "I might let you go if you looked a little less like you might keel over out there. You're not going anywhere just yet, buddy."

Clint swallowed. Irritation and something else Tony couldn't name shone in the man's eyes. "I can look after myself", the archer growled.

"On most days yeah, perfectly. But not right now." Tony might've grinned if he felt a little less annoyed and, admittedly, worried. Whatever fatigue might've plagued him was long gone. "Congratulations, Pigeon. You won yourself a sleepover."

It spoke a lot of unnerving things that all Tony got as a response was a roll of eyes.

* * *

Both men hated even the thought of what was about to happen. It was a humiliating, extremely uncomfortable experience. Neither of them would be telling _anyone_ about it.

"Just make it easier on us both and take off your shirt already."

"It's going to stay on, Stark."

"Just do it or…"

"Touch me… and I'll break your wrist. Among a couple of other things that you care hell a lot more about."

Tony groaned loudly, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. They'd been at this standstill for the past hour. Sitting at the opposite ends of a massive couch, glaring at each other. "Barton, you're not an idiot. Well, most of the time. You know as well as I do that I need to take a look at your injuries. Romanoff would kill me, slowly and painfully, if you'd die on my couch." The single, horrid word there tightened the knot that formed in the pit of his stomach when he first lay his eyes on Clint that night.

One corner of Clint's lips twitched. It must've hurt but at least it momentarily chased away some of the shadows hiding in those eyes. "Was that supposed to encourage me to obey?"

Tony sighed. All of a sudden he felt every bit of how late, or perhaps rather early, it was. "Stop acting like a five year old and just take off your shirt." He lifted both of his hands to be seen. "No touching, I promise. I just need to take a look."

For several moments Clint looked at him with evaluating, clearly mistrusting eyes. Contemplating his options. Then, slowly, did as he'd been told. And all of a sudden Tony understood entirely too well why the man had been so reluctant to comply. He had to bite his lip not to gasp or curse out loud.

The new injuries looked nasty, of course. Clearly Clint had been both beaten and kicked, hard. Actual fist and boot marks were already visible, a horrid contrast to the pale skin. In particular the Iron Man didn't like the assault the other's ribs seemed to have taken. He wasn't convinced that none of them was broken or cracked. There were also some long cuts. Tony was surprised to discover that they'd been stitched up already.

"Rogers has been teaching me how to do it better", Clint explained curtly, as though reading his mind. "The stitches aren't as good as his, though." The man had been watching him carefully ever since he started the inspection, obviously ready to bolt at any given moment.

Tony's eyes widened a fraction. _What?!_ "You… stitched yourself up?" he sputtered dumbly, his voice full of disbelief.

Clint merely shrugged, a clear signal that he wasn't interested in clarifying.

A heavy, not exactly comfortable silence lingered while Tony's eyes strayed on the older injuries. Scars, far too many of them, littered the archer's skin. Speaking tales of a long life on the run, of a life that he couldn't even imagine. Some of them were bigger, some smaller. Bullet holes, stab wounds, agonizingly long lacerations, several marks the origin of which Tony couldn't and didn't want to guess. It was a small miracle that Clint was there in front of him, alive and breathing.

Tony didn't object when Clint put on his shirt as quickly as he could, wanting to grant the other man some dignity. Nor did he ask because this wasn't the right time, no matter how much he would've wanted some answers. Those tales were Clint's to tell if the man would ever be ready to do so.

"Are you okay?" It slipped before Tony could see it coming. He wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised.

For several moments Clint watched him, as though trying to guess whether he was serious. Then nodded slowly. "Yeah." Of course he wasn't. But he would be, eventually. "Just tired."

Tony frowned, uncharacteristically unsure as to what to do. He _hated_ not knowing what to do. Judging by the melon Clint was developing to the side of his thick skull letting the man sleep didn't sound like a smart move. But the guy did look dead on his feet. That thought sent a shockwave of cold shivers and nausea through the inventor. "So sleep, okay?" he decided at last, patting the archer's shoulder gently with his fist. "Watching you swaying there is making me exhausted. So take a little catnap. I'll wake you up every few hours."

Falling asleep in someone's presence wasn't a small deal for Clint. For a moment it looked like the archer wouldn't accept his offer. In the end either exhaustion or something else entirely won. Slowly, slowly, the man stretched himself on the sofa, trying to find as much comfort as possible. "You'd better not let me choke on my vomit or something, Stark. I'll haunt you and kick your sorry ass if you don't."

Tony smiled, a rare, purely honest smile. Yeah, Clint would be just fine. "Just sleep, Robin Hood. It's my turn to keep watch."

For a few more moments Clint fought. Then did what was most likely the highest sign of trust the man was capable of. Slowly, giving him a one more glance, the archer closed his eyes and allowed his battered, definitely pained body to relax.

Watching the other man drifting off Tony gritted his teeth and sighed. He didn't have the slightest clue why Clint chose to come to him of all people. But he was glad that for once the unhealthily stubborn man had chosen not to suffer alone. If the bags under his eyes and the clear evidence of lost weight, which he'd just gotten a proper glimpse of, were anything to go by the archer had been doing far too much of that lately.

They'd have to start paying more attention to each other if they ever wanted to be a real, proper team.

With another sigh Tony fetched his laptop and started working, deciding that he'd need something to occupy the time before waking up his surprise guest. While typing away he listened to Clint's soft, even breathing, satisfied that the other was resting comfortably. Tony couldn't even imagine what, exactly, happened but he'd make damned sure that for the rest of the night the archer would be safe.

Little did Tony know how much of a blessing not knowing can be sometimes.

* * *

/ _When Clint came to, gradually and painfully, he wasn't surprised to discover that he was tied to a chair. It was an insult, really. He would've expected metallic chains, at very least. And leaving his legs free was a rookie mistake._

 _Not opening his eyes he listened carefully, catching five people discussing in a language that definitely wasn't English. After a few seconds his brain caught on, began to translate. A cold shiver crossed him when their conversation registered._

 _They were after Tony. And that was putting it mildly. They were planning on making the billionaire suffer for the destruction and agony the man's designs had brought on their village. For the sisters, brothers and children they'd lost._

 _Clint realized that him being a captive could work in two ways. Either he'd lure Tony here, to people who were clearly prepared for the Iron Man. Or he'd give them enough information for them to force their way into Tony's fortress._

 _Well, too bad, because Clint wasn't planning on giving them enough time for either. Sure, he was outnumbered, unarmed and, judging by the feel of it, had been pummeled quite a bit already. But he'd never been a quitter._

 _Clint inhaled and exhaled deeply, preparing himself, then unleashed a purposefully loud groan. It earned him the attention that he'd been after. Peering through half lidded eyes he saw several men closing in on him._

 _Oh, this was going to hurt…! But no matter. By the end of it he'd leave a loud enough message to convince these poor idiots and anyone working with them that coming after Tony Stark had been a very, very bad idea._

 _A few hours later Clint limped out of what turned out to be a practically abandoned apartment building in one of the city's less appealing parts. He dug out a cell phone he stole from one of the now perfectly harmless attackers and dialed. Fury picked up instantly. "Remember that group of terrorists you wanted me to look into? They just found me and you've got some cleaning up to do." He winced, bringing a tender hand against his abused ribs. "But first, there's something you should know about them…"_ /

* * *

The sound of Tony typing worked better than any lullaby. Pulled Clint out of unpleasant memories and and physical discomfort. Eased the tension that'd been sitting in every single one of his muscles for ages.

Tony was fine, he reminded himself. And he'd be fine, too. Everything would be alright.

That thought mantra guided Clint into a sweet oblivion. This time there were no unpleasant ghosts waiting for him. For the first time since Loki Clint slept peacefully.

* * *

 ** _End._**

* * *

A/N: Poor Clint…! (winces) But awww, he's such a hero, pulling off that stunt partially to keep Tony safe. Hmm, I wonder what Tony would say if he ever found out why Clint was harmed…?

Soooo… Any good, at all? The word's all yours, now.

In any case, THANK YOU so much for reading! I hope that you had as good time as I had while typing this. And maybe I'll see you again later…? (glances hopefully)

Take care!


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